I have dirt on my feet, grass between my toes, sun on my skin. I have blisters from those damn flip-flops that I just can’t seem to break in. My hair is slowly escaping from the, now, lopsided top knot I threw it in this morning. The air is stagnant here, except for the occasional
As a child, I grew up surrounded by reassurance. It was obvious to everyone, except my young little mind, that the things I created and did weren’t perfect. That little squiggle on a page that I claimed to be a bird, and the huge white gap between the sky and the earth, were learning curves.